


Mirrors

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Body Image, Bottom Hank Anderson, Condoms, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Getting Together, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Strap-Ons, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Valentine's Day, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Connor accidentally sends Hank a photo of himself wearing lingerie. It puts them both in an awkward situation, but it’s the spark that pushes them to explore their relationship.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: Connor is pre-op/non-op and has not had any surgeries. Body image and dysphoria will come up a few times.

Connor looks himself over in his full-length bedroom mirror and grins.

He’s gorgeous and he knows it. His hair is perfectly styled, with a touch of product added after showering to make it look soft and just the tiniest bit disheveled. The dark blue eyeshadow and pale lip gloss make him look like he stepped out of a magazine cover. His midsection is toned and his chest fits snugly in the lacy blue bralette he’s wearing, nipples hard against the fabric and chest hair peeking out behind the threads. Further down, he’s wearing a matching garter belt and fishnet stockings, with panties that make his backside look excellent. The bulge of his packer ties the whole ensemble together, making him feel sexy.

In his humble opinion, he looks incredible.

He grabs his phone and snaps a picture. After another minute of consideration, he pulls out a short, black satin robe and takes another photo while wearing that, feigning a disinterested look. He can’t hold the expression long as a smirk takes over his face.

“Oh, that one’s good,” he says. He makes a slight edit to the saturation before sending it to a recent contact, picking one at random based on the profile image. (All his hookups have cat pictures, a system he set up after sending a racy pic to Niles instead of Miles.) With any luck, he’ll get a good fuck. Better, he might get himself a date for Valentine’s Day if things go well, too. It’s not far off now, and as much as he isn’t worried about a relationship right now, he’s a sucker for the holiday.

The phone and robe end up on the bed and he fondles himself, eyes still glued to the mirror. Maybe it will be rushed and desperate, Connor peeling the clothes off the other man and getting fucked hard against the wall, taking another shower and putting on a movie only to do it all again an hour later, if not sooner. Maybe the other man will take his time, worshipping every inch of Connor’s skin until Connor can’t stand it any more, begging to come and have his cock touched. It could be one of those nights where Connor’s the one calling the shots, telling his lover exactly what to do and how to please him, coming over and over again before he gives his pet some well deserved attention at the end of a long night.

The phone buzzes and Connor runs his thumb down the side of his packer, his nail catching under the head. He likes the thought of that one. It’s been a while since he pulled out his boots--tall, black boots laced up at the front, with wicked heels. He only wears those when he’s in control, liking the confidence and power they seem to give him. If he has time, he might have to put them on and take a few pictures.

He inevitably glances at his chest, a frown marring his face as he thinks that he’d rather have a flat one. The persistent worry in the back of his head tells him he’s trying too hard and won’t be taken seriously as a man, and maybe he should put everything away and try again some months after surgery, when he finally fits an ideal.

The people who matter won’t mind, he tells himself, shaking off the thoughts. He’s already made sure no one on his list is a transphobic jackass. (The ones who didn’t quite make the cut for one reason or another have trash cans for their profile pics, if they’ve survived the culling of his contacts list.)

His phone buzzes again and he grins at it. “Sounds like someone’s horny.” Connor shimmies once more in the mirror before sauntering over to the bed and picking up his phone, unlocking it and feeling smug.

The color drains from his face when he sees who it is: Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

It would appear that no, the brown-and-white icon is not, in fact, a cat, but is a dog, the image taken from the photo on the lieutenant’s desk.

 _> Lt. Anderson: hey i think u got the wrong number  
_ _> Lt. Anderson: this is hank_

If Connor could melt into the floor right now, he would. He’d much rather be beige carpet than a human with responsibilities right now. Mortification washes over him, a thin layer at first followed by a deep embarrassment, and he takes a deep breath, paces back and forth twice, and bites the bullet. He types and sends the response without thinking twice.

_> Connor: Apologies, Lieutenant. I selected the wrong contact._

The admission makes his cheeks burn. Hank knows it’s him in the picture, knows that he’s wearing lingerie and sending the images to someone. Connor double-checks the picture; it doesn’t have a clear view of his bust, with the robe over it, but it’s possible Hank may know or suspect he’s trans.

It doesn’t matter, Connor thinks, chewing his lip. The lieutenant is professional and nicer than he seems. They’ve worked together a fair bit, considering Connor’s work in forensics. He’s skilled and has a few years of experience as a lab tech, and he’s taken the initiative to work with police for more efficient processing and evaluation of crime scenes, making him invaluable.

Assuming Hank doesn’t have him written up for this. He could, probably. He might even force the issue if he’s homophobic or feels slighted.

 _> Connor: I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.  
_ _> Lt. Anderson: dont worry abt it u look great  
_ _> Lt. Anderson: go get em  
_ _> Lt. Anderson: enjpy ur weekebd_

It’s an unusual and awkward conversation, and Connor’s not sure if the well-wishing is better or worse than something professional or cold, but he’ll take it.

_> Connor: Thanks. You too._

He wonders if Hank liked the picture, then decides he’d rather not go down that path right now. If Hank’s straight--and he probably is, given that he has an ex-wife--those thoughts could turn far less comfortable.

Connor looks back at the mirror. He sees the bags under his eyes and the stubble growing in on his chin. There are wrinkles on his breasts when he leans forward and stretch marks on his thighs, a pudge to his belly and an old scar at his hip. His arousal is gone and he’s left feeling uncomfortable and unwanted.

It feels like he’s pretending.

He skims through his contacts list, taking his time this time around, but none of the names sound appealing. He can’t think of anyone he’d care to sleep with tonight, and he thinks, maybe, he’d just like a hug.

Unhooking his bralette, he dials another number. “Hey, Niles,” he says, grabbing loungewear one-handedly from a drawer. “Wanna come watch a movie?”

* * *

Hank deletes the picture, but the cool, disinterested look stays in his mind for days.

It’s not at all what he had expected to see when seeing that he had a new text from Connor. It was probably a case, or regarding some work-related event, and Hank opened it up right away to either send some acknowledgement or decline. Instead, he choked on his beer. He’d waffled for a minute, convincing himself it was surely an accident, and was only a little disappointed when that turned out to be the case.

It doesn’t matter. Connor’s clearly out of his league and probably misclicked when trying to text his girlfriend. Or boyfriend. He’s had the impression that Connor’s straight, but he prefers not to assume, and the lace makes him doubt. Not that he focuses much on the lace, and in fact is trying not to focus on it. It’s not any of his business, anyway. They barely know each other.

He’d like to, he thinks, blinking blearily at a report he’s editing on Monday morning. His second cup of coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. The only reason he’s here this early is because Fowler made it perfectly clear his ass is on the line if he doesn’t get himself into shape. It’s the same song and dance it’s been for months: Hank will make a genuine effort, but a month later, he’s back to drinking late and waking up hungover until Fowler gets on his case again. The cycle has started over and Hank’s ready to take on the week. Depression still clings to him like some sort of thick muck, but he’s taken the first step, and that’s the important part.

Chances are he won’t see Connor this week, and that’s fine. More than fine, really, given that a homicide would need to occur for that to happen in the first place.

It isn’t that he’s interested in Connor. He’s attractive, certainly, and Hank can’t get that face out of his head, but the picture made him realize how little he knows about him. Who exactly is Connor? What does he do in his spare time? What is he passionate about? What’s he like off the clock? The two of them have hardly spoken casually outside of a couple shared lunch breaks.

What Hank knows is that Connor is committed to his profession, driven and focused in a way that reminds Hank of himself years ago. He’s clever, witty, and direct, but not unkind. An analytical mind. Someone who puts up a professional image and makes himself look flawless. Hank wonders if he has any pets.

He feels a little guilty that this interest came from an image he wasn’t supposed to see, but he thinks any interest he has in making friends is a positive change. He’ll have to make sure he doesn’t come on too strong and make the impression that he’s pursuing Connor, but he’s sure he can manage, provided he keeps his head on straight and doesn’t make a fool of himself.

With the final tweaks done, Hank saves and sends the report, then sips at his cold coffee. He feels gross all over. His hair and beard are hardly cared for, he’s tired when he shouldn’t be, and he’s got a headache barely kept at bay with painkillers. He feels less than human, like he’s almost detached from existence and like he should be waking up in his house any minute now, not at work doing… well, work.

But he finally has a plan, however small, to try making friends with someone whose face he doesn’t have to suffer seeing every day. It’s a start.

It occurs to him that waiting until they work together again--which could be in a day, a week, a month--is not a good way for one to build connections. He taps at his phone, flipping between apps noncommittally before opening his texts.

To his surprise, there’s already a text from Connor that he apparently missed from an hour ago.

_> Connor sternc5 (FOR): Results back on Stone case. Red Ice & others, new info. Email to follow, OOF rn._

Hank raises his eyebrows. He figured that case was open and shut: Murder with a witness, and the murderer possessed some drugs, Red Ice among them, but the promise of new information is concerning.

 _> Hank: ty for the heads up  
_ _> Hank: visiting us this week?_

It’s only five minutes before the next text comes, during which timeframe Hank busies himself by sorting his email. There are three Valentine’s Day ads that he promptly deletes.

 _> Connor sternc5 (FOR): Tomorrow morning w/Collins. Free for lunch and afternoon.  
_ _> Hank: wanna grab lunch and go over tge results?  
_ _> Connor sternc5 (FOR): Yes. Will email soon.  
_ _> Hank: great_

That went easier than expected.

Hank glances at his computer like the email’s about to appear any second now. He’s not eager to read the report; all the dry stuff will be in there, and he’s going to make himself read through it even if he thinks the summary is sufficient, because all the little details could prove to be important. He owes it to the victim, and part of him feels like he owes it to Connor, too.

Even if there’s no friendship in their future, he kind of likes the guy. That’s enough to make him try to care about his work again, at least for the moment.

* * *

Tuesday morning begins grey and dreary. The clouds are heavy and threatening to rain, and the first thing Connor does after turning off his alarm is use his inhaler in anticipation of the humidity. He sets a travel mug under his coffee maker and starts a brew, puts two waffles in the toaster, and heads to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

Today should be a good day. He looks himself over in the mirror, not sure whether he looks attractive or just average, wearing nothing but boxers. His bedhead is minor, nothing a comb can’t fix, and he doesn’t look tired as hell. Having shaved yesterday and gone to bed before ten must have helped with that. It puts him at ease, knowing that he looks like he’s put-together. He’ll be fine.

He’s out the door fifteen minutes later, scarfing down the second waffle and chasing it with hot coffee. His agenda is busy--office, Collins, Anderson, then back to the office again at the end of the day--and it will be a nice break from the lab work he’s had the past few days. He could do with getting some fresh air and seeing people he isn’t stuck with every day.

* * *

Connor meets Hank at a table in the cafeteria, carrying a bag with a takeout sandwich. It’s a nice cafeteria, and even has an area with snacks and fresh refrigerated foods with a self-checkout kiosk. The late lunch hour means it isn’t very crowded, and he can see Hank has already claimed a table by the window.

Connor sits across from him, sparing a glance to the rain outside before looking at Hank. It doesn’t feel awkward at all despite their exchange on Friday.

The first thing that strikes him about Hank is his eyes.

It isn’t that he’s never seen the man before. Of course he has. It was the lieutenant’s aura that always struck him before, his sheer confidence and commanding presence outweighing the fatigue that sometimes showed on his shoulders. Today, Lieutenant Anderson seems less like a lieutenant and more like just a guy. Connor’s perspective has shifted, however little, and it makes the lieutenant seem more approachable.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank says when Connor sits. He has a burger and fries, the empty paper bag on its side next to the soda. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Connor unwraps his sandwich. On impulse, he decides the best way to not talk about the thing is to talk about the thing now so that it doesn’t come up later. “Listen, I’m really sorry about Friday, and…”

Hank holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, like he expected this conversation. His cheeks are turning pink. “I deleted the picture already. We all text the wrong person sometimes, so I get it.”

“Oh.” It’s curious how Connor deflates at the admission that the image was deleted. That’s a good thing, it’s safe, but the relief conflicts with the desire for validation and appreciation, and he scolds himself for being so finicky. “I hope I didn’t upset you or anything. So we’re good?”

“No harm done. We’re good. Seriously.” Hank grins and it makes Connor’s heart skip a beat. “I just hope I didn’t mess up your weekend plans.”

“Not really. I ended up watching a movie with my brother instead of…” He waves a hand ambiguously and his face heats up. “I changed your icon in my contacts since that was the problem in the first place.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Now I’m worried what you’ve got for my icon.”

Connor sighs and fiddles with a piece of lettuce. “It’s your dog. The one you’ve got a picture of on your desk. I meant to text someone with a cat icon. So I removed your icon and now it’s just blue.” He takes a bite of his sandwich before he can run his mouth any more.

“Well, that’s a shame, because Sumo’s adorable.”

“He’s staying off unless you want to start getting booty calls from me,” Connor says around a mouthful of sandwich, effectively ruining the decision he made a moment to go. He compensates by shoving more food in his mouth and looking out the window instead of at Hank, watching raindrops splash in the parking lot puddles.

Hank laughs, a bright, rough sound. “Maybe I should start bringing him on dates if that’s what it takes to get someone interested.”

Connor sorely wants to say that Hank is certainly attractive enough that he doesn’t need help, but he’s chewing and doesn’t need to dig himself into a hole by flirting--at work, no less--so he finishes his mouthful quietly before speaking again. “Do you think I could meet Sumo sometime? I’ve never met a St. Bernard before.”

“Sure. I take him around the park on weekends, if you want me to text you ahead of time. He loves meeting new people.”

“Fantastic. As long as the weather’s better than this, at least.” Connor nods to the window. “I think it’ll let up by the weekend.”

“Should get cold enough to snow tomorrow, shouldn’t it?” Hank asks. “That’s some shit weather.”

“I’ll be inside all day tomorrow. Speaking of, are you ready to talk about those test results?”

They spend the rest of the afternoon working over the information they have from the crime, using their combined expertise to go over what’s new, what’s missing, and what Hank needs to look for when he revisits the scene. The goal of sorting out this information turns their focus from themselves to their work and they both ease into it comfortably, the nerves from before all but disappeared. It’s a good step forward for both of them.

When Connor departs to stop by his office before heading home, it’s with a smile on his face.

* * *

Connor runs both hands down his sides, feeling his smooth skin and the silky lace at his hips. The unkempt trail of hair leading down his belly is hidden behind the garter belt, a few hairs poking out through the fabric to hint at more. His fingers trail down that path, stopping right above where his cock is straining against his panties. In the mirror he can see the damp patch beneath it, the clear evidence of his arousal making him feel like a beautiful mess. He’s hard and wanting, and he’s never seen anyone sexier in his life.

He thinks about the men he’s slept with. How soft and tender some of their touches have been, just like his are now, feeling his every curve, all the dips and bumps and bony parts of his body, all the way across his neck and down his arms. His hands roam his own body, imagining all the encounters he’s had and the way those hands felt on him. The ones that were soft and felt like satin, and the ones that were rough and calloused, sometimes gentler than the former. He wonders what he looked like to those lovers: If he made the same faces in the mirror, if he moved the same way he does now, his hips twitching every time a hand comes close to his cock.

It’s not the same as feeling another’s hands on him. The intense, electric delight and anticipation are missing; he knows where his hands will go and his body expects it. He misses that jolt of excitement that he gets when another man explores his body, a feeling that always goes straight to his cock and makes him unbearably wet. He has half a mind to call someone up, but it’s a Tuesday night and he wants this time to be his own.

He wants to watch himself come undone.

His phone is set up atop is dresser to record this. Even if he closes his eyes or turns around, he’ll be able to see himself later, catching the moment he loses control without needing to worry about focusing on it now. He palms his cock at the thought and groans softly at the pressure and the feeling of his slick. It’s his real cock today, not his packer, which he’s left tucked away in a drawer.

He’s foregone the bralette, too, leaving his chest bare under the black satin choker at his neck. He looks good like this, and it makes him look and feel confident and exposed all at once. The man in the mirror is delectably sexy with half-lidded eyes and his cock jutting out, and beneath the haze he feels a sense of pride. This is his body and he loves every inch of it. Every pearlescent stretch mark shows how he’s grown. Every scar tells a story, however small, about what makes him who he is today. His breasts are nothing to be ashamed of and they lend to how attractive he is. His cock, hard and throbbing and deep red beneath the lace, is as alluring as any cis man’s penis, if not more so.

He rubs at his cock slowly, indulging himself. Part of him wants to rush and have this over in minutes, while another wants him to work himself over for hours, feeling himself all over and inside, playing with toys and imagining hundreds of different fantasies over the course of the evening.

He wants to be on his knees, thrusting a toy hard and slow as he imagines being pinned by a larger man. He wants to lie on his back, filling himself with his largest fantasy dildo, all of its ridges and bumps and its thick head riling him up and making him ache to touch his cock for relief. He wants to ride two toys at once, working himself up from a slow pace to one that makes him lose his breath, and he wants to come over and over again, watching himself in the mirror as he debauches himself.

It’s a work night. He could do something like that, but he would have to face the consequences of a sore back, aching legs, and a late night. It just isn’t the right day for any of that.

Reluctantly, he stops rubbing himself. This isn’t the night to draw this out, but he still wants to make this memorable, something he’s pleased to look back on when he reviews the recording. He takes a moment to shift his phone so it’s facing the bed, and checks that the angle is correct, then he opens the drawer with his toy collection, folding back the towel on top. He makes his selection: A bullet vibe and lube.

He tosses the vibe onto the bed, then tilts his head back, pumping a few pumps of the lube--one that’s made to look like cum--onto his face, making sure one glob catches his lips. After a moment’s consideration, he adds a few pumps on his chest, then one on the garter belt. He takes a few pictures without interrupting the recording, then admires himself in the mirror, loving the way he looks with the fake cum on his face as if he’s just been sucking a cock. A drop of it trickles down his breast as it warms up against his skin, reaching his nipple.

He looks like he’s having a very good time.

Connor saunters over to the bed and leans back against the pile of pillows he has set up. He spares a stroke or two for his cock, then grabs the vibe and turns it on. It’s the strongest one he’s got, and by far his favorite. He presses it against his nipple--the dry one, since the silicone-based lube won’t play nice with the toy--and bites his lip at the zing of sensation that runs down his spine. If he weren’t already ridiculously turned on, this would do the trick.

When it reaches a point that he starts feeling desperate, he raises the intensity with the click of a button and brings the vibe down to his cock, letting out a loud moan as he presses it against the fabric. All of his being feels like it’s centered at his core, the intensity of feeling narrowing down to his cock like nothing else could ever feel as good as this.

He thrusts upwards, mouth open and legs spread wide, all the while keeping the vibe pressed against his cock. The only adjustment he makes is to move the vibe slightly to the right, the side that he favors, and it’s only moments before he’s writhing on the bed, eager for release while his hole clenches, hot and needy. If he wanted to prolong this he would remove the vibe, rub himself, and repeat the process until he can’t stand it anymore, but as his hips jerk and thrust in search of relief, he makes himself keep the toy in place.

After only a couple of minutes he falls apart. With a vocal and drawn-out _“oh,”_ he comes hard, hips stuttering as he starts to shake. He tries to keep the vibe in place, but the strength of the vibrations makes his knuckles hurt and he lets go, dropping it onto the sheets. He lies there in the aftershocks, half-cradling his hand against his chest, panting and resting in a daze as the toy buzzes beside him..

When he manages to come back to himself, Connor sits up and turns off the vibe, then collapses back against the bed. “Holy shit.”

He feels good. He feels really, really good. He runs his hands over his body leisurely, thinking once more about someone touching him, feeling all of him. How gentle, rough hands would worship every inch of him, not just when building up to sex but afterwards. In the shower, in the afterglow, in the kitchen on a slow weekend morning. How nice it would be to be fucked and loved and held.

His cock begins to stir again, but it isn’t until he imagines blue eyes that the spark hits him again. He thinks of blue eyes and a smile, and a grey beard brushing against the inside of his thighs, and then he’s reaching for the vibe again, dreaming of a tongue lapping at his center.

Maybe he shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but Hank never needs to know. Connor can indulge himself a little bit right now, he thinks, clicking the vibe on again.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the week passes as usual: Cases, reports, and TV dramas take up most of Hank’s time. The only hiccup through the week is a nail in one of his tires, which has him cursing up a storm until he takes his car to the shop an hour before closing. By Friday evening, he’s ready to put his feet up and call it a week. He grabs a beer, then thinks better of it and swaps it out for a soda. The crack of the can as he opens it is only a little less satisfying.

Sumo, ever the lap dop, hops up on the couch next to him and lays his head in Hank’s lap, looking up at him adoringly. Hank pets Sumo’s head, a smile pulling at his lips. “Love you too, buddy,” he says.

Life’s hard. It’s hard to see what he sees and come home and not put a bullet in his head. The memories and grief that cling to him always creep up and weigh him down more on weekends when he no longer has work to focus on. He’s tried to take up hobbies--gardening, woodworking, baking--but they’ve all fallen through thanks to his own lack of patience and failure to commit. But of all the things he’s tried, he’s glad that dog ownership is one he hasn’t slacked off on. He doesn’t know where he’d be without Sumo, without any family at all.

He hasn’t tried dating, not really. Hookups, definitely, but those have been few and far between. Hanging out with people is almost a foreign concept at this point. He’s got his job, his dog, and his house, and he doesn’t spare much time for anything else. The images in his head of Connor giving him that look from the photo make him think he really should get out again. He’s starved for touch and affection, and it’s been way too long if all it takes to get him interested is the right look from a man who isn’t even interested in him.

At least, he thinks that’s the case. It certainly sounded like Connor wasn’t serious about Hank calling him for anything sexual, but even if he was, Hank wouldn’t take him up on that. Not unless it was a clear invitation. He doesn’t think it would do either of them a service to go into something like that without a clear invitation, even if they are both lonely.

He flicks on the TV and streams the first show on his list, because his mind is very much going places where it very much shouldn’t. Later, when he’s in bed and can’t sleep because his mind is running in circles, he won’t begrudge himself a few minutes of fantasy, thoughts of Connor taking him in hand and making cheeky comments, or of Connor looking down at Hank, commanding him to lick and suck while Hank watches Connor tilt his head back in pleasure. The fantasy won’t linger; it’s no more than a passing interest that will wane as he gets to know Connor better, seeing him as a friend more than an attractive unknown.

Now, he’s got his soda, his TV, and his dog, and he’s going to relax without thinking about anything else.

* * *

Connor’s smile when he sees Sumo is enough to make up for all the grey clouds in the sky. “Oh, my god,” he says, stopping beside the dog, who’s beside himself with excitement, tail wagging furiously until Hank loosens his hold on the leash. Sumo nudges at Connor’s hand and crotch and belly, and attempts to stand on his hind legs to lick at his face, but Connor saves him the hassle by kneeling down to accept the slobbery kiss with a laugh. “You’re such a good dog. Holy shit, what do you feed him?”

“Premium kibble. I keep him pretty healthy. He’s definitely the biggest dog I’ve ever had. Wait til spring gets here, he’ll be shedding everywhere.”

“I can imagine. Your chair at work’s got dog hairs on it.”

Hank laughs. “Don’t I know it.”

Connor wipes his face on his sleeve as he stands, one hand buried in Sumo’s fur as the dog presses against his leg. “How long have you had him?” This close, Hank can see the pale gold eyeshadow Connor’s wearing, and he thinks he might be wearing a pink lip gloss, too.

“Probably about… seven years now? Got him when he was a puppy. He looked so goddamn ridiculous when he got his growth spurts.”

“I’ve always wanted a dog or a cat. I grew up with fish. Pets that were seen and not heard, you know. They needed less attention in a given day, but if you’re properly taking care of them, they need a lot more care than you might think,” Connor says. “I still loved them.”

“What about now? Any pets at your place?”

Connor shakes his head and the two of them start following the path through the park, Sumo leading the way and intermittently looking back to make sure Connor’s still there. “My brother Silas has a corgi, and Niles might get a bird. I’m waiting until I’m out of my apartment and in a house of my own. Right now I just live vicariously through Silas and my friends.”

“What about your, uh…” Hank falters. “Whoever you’re dating?”

Connor’s face turns bright red, and it’s clearly not from the cold weather. “I’m not.”

“Oh. Well, whoever you’ve got as a date for Valentine’s?” Hank asks in a futile attempt to save himself some embarrassment.

“I don’t.” Connor sighs. “That’s Monday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t exactly have anyone lined up, either. I’m a bit out of my prime,” Hank says. He’d almost forgotten about the holiday until he passed by some stores with ads in the windows on his way here. It’s been too many years since he’s cared to celebrate it.

Connor looks at him, eyes wide. “You’re serious?” he asks, lips curling into an incredulous grin.

“Shit, look at me, Connor. I’m not exactly date material. It’d be nice, but I’m not fooling myself. You, on the other hand, look stunning, even out in the cold.” Connor may not have on much other than a peacoat, jeans, and boots, but if Connor told him right then and there that he was a model, he’d believe it. “Seriously.”

“I think you need a better mirror. When was the last time you tried dating someone?”

“Before I went grey.”

Connor whistles. “Maybe it’s just my opinion, but you look great. Far from out of your prime.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll wait til someone who’d like to date me says as much. Thanks for trying to cheer me up, though,” Hank says. “Maybe in a couple years I’ll try dating apps again.”

Connor tilts his head to the side. “If you’re not doing anything Monday, I was thinking about going to an Italian restaurant. We could book a table.”

Hank snorts. “You don’t need to try to make me feel better about it. I’m not torn up about being single or missing out on a holiday.”

“I have a coupon for free dessert with two entrées.” Connor shrugs. “Just if you want, you know.”

“We’d look like a couple.” It could be nice to pretend, Hank thinks, but he doesn’t want that. He’s not opposed to going out for dinner, but he needs to set up boundaries, make it clear that they’re just going out as friends, because he doesn’t think he’ll survive an entire dinner with Connor’s mixed signals. He opens his mouth to continue, but Connor beats him to it.

“I’m not opposed to giving off that impression. We could even be a couple,” Connor says boldly. “But I don’t make a habit of asking out straight men.”

Hank stops in his tracks. Sumo pulls the leash taut, then pads back over to him, nudging his hand gently. “At this rate you’re gonna have me thinking you actually find me attractive.”

Connor splays his hands and raises an eyebrow as if it should be obvious. “Yes.”

It’s not that Hank thinks badly of his appearance, not always, but he knows he could look much better, and he very well knows he doesn’t look young at all. It’s flattering. “I don’t really go on dates for the sake of going on dates.”

“I don’t ask people out to pity them,” Connor counters.

“I’m not straight, either, so jot that down.”

“Noted. In that case, will you go out with me, Hank Anderson?”

Hank huffs a breath and shifts his weight, looking around the park and anywhere that isn’t Connor for at least a few seconds before his magnetic presence draws Hank’s gaze. Fuck it, he thinks. “Sure. Let’s give it a go,” he says, and a smile blooms across Connor’s serious face. “Let’s see where this goes.”

The two of them begin walking again. Connor reaches for Hank’s hands, lacing their fingers together. It’s nice. “It’s okay if you change your mind,” Connor says, “but I really do think you’re handsome.”

“This isn’t just because we’re both lonely, right?” Hank asks.

“Maybe loneliness is just the push we need.” Connor winks at him and Hank’s sure the flutter his heart does isn’t normal, but he’ll be damned if he does anything but grin in response, eyes crinkling in a mirror of Connor’s.

“I think I’ll still give Sumo the credit,” Hank says, and they both laugh.

* * *

Connor’s excited to have a boyfriend. Part of it is the novelty and validation, the confirmation that someone is interested in spending time with him and learning about him, mixed with the desire to learn about someone else. The rest of his thoughts center on Hank. What’s he like off the clock? What are his hobbies? What interests do they share, and what can they introduce each other to? His confidence and optimism are returning in spades.

He manages to keep his thoughts tame until after dinner Sunday evening. He’s tried to keep the texting to a minimum--wouldn’t want to overwhelm Hank right away and break any boundaries--but they’ve been texting meaningless chatter to each other for a couple of hours. Hank must be as excited as he is about all of this.

_> Hank ♥: i can and will take a week off to introduce u to star trek  
_ _> Connor: It’s okay. I’m already familiar with some of the characters through social media, like Spirk and Data.  
_ _> Hank ♥: two weeks, and u promise to stop pulling my leg_

It’s fun. It’s like there’s a fountain of bubbles inside of him, lifting his mood and his thoughts, and he’s letting himself be swept away. The anticipation of their date tomorrow is almost too much.

Connor dresses up again tonight, this time in a dark red babydoll, something he bought last month but hasn’t worn until now. He can’t resist taking a number of photos in front of his mirror. He knows he’s vain, but it feels good to dress up like this and look at himself like he’s the sexiest man alive.

The cups are completely lace, showing off plenty of skin beneath, and it feels good when he squeezes his breasts, feeling how soft they are and watching his nipples harden in the mirror. The rest of the material isn’t completely sheer, but it’s sheer enough to see that he’s wearing panties that are just as lacy as the rest, and the bulge of his packer is impossible to miss.

His eyeshadow matches, a red that fades to gold, and earlier he cracked open a shimmery blush and red lipstick to go with the ensemble. He’s even painted his nails, a matching dark red with glittery gold at the tips. It’s indulgent enough that he wouldn’t wear this amount of makeup in public; it’s taken long enough just to feel comfortable going out with a touch of makeup, let alone all of this, so it remains private.

He takes a selfie of just his face and shoulders, giving a sultry look with a bit of a ruined effect thanks to the grin trying to take over his face. He double-checks the picture, finding that it looks just the right amount of sexy with the bra straps and bare shoulders, and sends it to Hank.

Hank should know he’s signing up for Connor’s vanity as much as the rest of him. Boundaries will need to be set, of course, but he hopes that Hank will appreciate his photos.

Connor’s just set the cum lube on the dresser when his phone vibrates with a call from Hank. He answers right away, fighting back a spike of worry. “Hey, Hank.”

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Going fine. Everything alright?” Connor asks.

“Yeah, everything’s great.” Hank clears his throat. “I just wanted to say you look really good.”

“Yeah?” Connor covers his smile with a hand. No one’s ever called him to give a compliment, always texting instead. “Did you want to see more?”

He thinks he hears a whispered _‘fuck’_ on the other end. “You look incredible, Connor. I would love to see more if you want to share. It’s just… Last time you sent me a picture like that, you were looking to invite someone over, right?”

“I was, yes.” Connor blinks at his own reflection, then it clicks. “Oh. Oh! No, I wasn’t propositioning you, I would’ve been clear if I was. Not that I’d be opposed, of course. I mean, we haven’t even had a date yet, so I wouldn’t want to pressure you.” He shifts his weight, cursing his own body as he starts to feel hot, and he turns up the volume while he finds another photo to send to Hank.

“It’s fine, I don’t feel pressured. I just wanted to make sure. Better to clarify than make myself look oblivious, right?” Hank says, and Connor sends a photo from earlier, one that looks downright seductive. “I--Holy shit.”

The brief silence that follows is immensely satisfying. “Like what you see?” Connor asks.

“That would be an understatement. You’re absolutely gorgeous. The gold goes really well with your eyes, and the red… I thought you looked great in blue, but the red is something else.”

Connor preens at the praise. “You can get your hands all over this,” he says, dragging out the _‘all.’_ “If you want. We can wait, if you prefer.”

“And what do you prefer?” Hank asks.

“I’ve never been one for patience.”

“Then I’ll be needing your address.” Connor begins texting it, and Hank continues, “By the way, are you trans? I don’t want to pry, I just…”

Connor’s fingers freeze, but he resumes typing, telling his heart to calm down. “Yeah. I thought you knew, after, you know. The first picture.”

“I tried not to pay too much attention to anything about that picture. Didn’t want to be a creep, you know? But thanks for telling me.”

“It’s not a dealbreaker that I don’t have a cock, right?” Connor asks, thumb hovering over the _Send_ button. “I’ve got a packer and a strap-on, but I don’t want you expecting anything different from what I am.”

“Whatever you’ve got is gonna be perfect, Con. Just like the rest of you,” Hank says. Connor hits send and bites back a whimper. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Connor says, somehow keeping his voice from wavering. He sends Hank one last picture: The one from last Friday that started it all.

Now he just has to keep his hands off himself until Hank gets here.

* * *

Connor sets out grabbing everything they might need. He sets the lube on the bedside table along with a pair of washcloths, drops a towel on one of the pillows just in case, and collects two water bottles from the fridge. There’s already one of his favorite vibes and a box of his favorite condoms--dotted and ribbed--in the drawer, but he double-checks them anyway.

The nerves from the call fade quickly and he’s left excited and eager. He’s already slick, anticipating Hank’s arrival, and he’s not sure how long his patience will last. It’s definitely not how he expected tonight to go, but he’s not upset in the least. He resists the urge to rub himself and tries to chase away thoughts of what Hank’s dick will feel like. It’s startling how quickly he’s gone from trying to keep his Hank-related thoughts chaste to getting ready to fuck the guy.

After a moment of consideration, he grabs his strap-on and sets it beside the lube. He wants that cock, but once he’s gotten his fill--or if Hank prefers it in the first place--he wants the option for more. The image of Hank on his knees, sucking Connor’s cock, floats across his mind. Face flushed, lips swollen, lipstick smeared across his cheek…

It’s a mercy that Hank arrives so soon. Connor pulls on his satin robe, which only reaches halfway down his thighs, and ties it closed. There’s still a significant dip at his chest, but at least if anyone outside were to see him, they wouldn’t see too much.

Connor answers the door with a confident smile, opening his mouth to greet Hank when the words die in his throat.

Hank’s carrying a bouquet of red and pink flowers.

“Hey,” Hank clears his throat. His cheeks are pink from the cold. “You look good.”

“Just good?” Connor opens the door wide to left him in. “You look okay, yourself.”

Hank laughs. “You look downright stunning. It’s great to see you, sweetheart.”

The endearment makes Connor’s heart flutter as he shuts the door. “Thanks for coming over. I didn’t think I’d see you until our date.” The contrast between his state of undress and Hank being fully clothed--coat included--makes him feel unbearably hot. He leads him towards the kitchen table. “You brought flowers.”

“I thought they’d be nice. A beautiful gift for the most gorgeous man I know. They can’t hold a candle to you, of course, but I think they match.” He offers the bouquet to Connor, who takes a look at the flowers as Hank hangs up his coat and leaves his shoes and socks at the door. There’s a variety of species ranging from white to red, from roses and carnations to flowers Connor recognizes but couldn’t name. He touches their delicate, soft petals, soft as satin beneath his fingers.

“As long as you don’t fuck the flowers,” Connor says, earning him a chuckle from Hank. They’re standing close now and Connor can feel the heat from Hank’s body, almost touching. “They’re nice. Thank you. I think I have a vase for them somewhere.”

“Want me to help look?”

“No. They’ll survive for now.” He sets the bouquet on the table and then pulls Hank in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck. It’s gentle and feels more intimate, here in the silence of his apartment. It’s very nice, and he has to keep himself from pushing his entire body against Hank’s and ruining the moment.

Fortunately for him, Hank feels the same way, wrapping his arms around Connor’s waist and pulling their bodies snug. He knows Hank can feel his bulge and that thought alone makes a gasp stutter out of him before Hank chases his mouth to continue the kiss. It evolves into something hungry and filled with want, and Connor can’t help but to move his hips slightly, instinctively seeking more than he can get from this embrace.

When they part, they’re both breathing heavily. Hank’s lips are red from the lipstick. “Bedroom?” Hank asks with a heavy look in his eyes.

The journey to the bedroom passes by in a flurry of kisses and wandering hands, and soon enough Connor pushes Hank back onto the bed, straddling him while kissing his mouth, and then down from his mouth, across his jaw and down his neck. Connor nips, licks, and sucks at his collarbone, taking his time to explore Hank’s skin and pull soft groans from him. Hank’s hands roam across Connor’s shoulders, back, and sides, then his fingers thread through his hair while Connor marks him up.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank says, sounding lightheaded.

“Hm?” Connor runs a hand down Hank’s chest, slowly feeling the shape of him.

Hank thumbs at the fabric of Connor’s robe. “We’re both a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

“I dunno,” Connor says, tracing slow circles around a clothed nipple. “I could unzip your pants and ride you like this. Would you like that?” He can feel Hank’s hard cock as he shifts his thigh against Hank’s crotch.

“Is that what you planned? Because it sounds like a fucking dream.” Hank glances at the strap-on. “I’m prepared for whatever you’ve got for me, darling.”

Connor kisses him again, then sits up. He takes Hank’s hands and guides them to the belt of his robe, giving him a nod and letting Hank untie it. The robe slips off, revealing his body beneath, and Hank stares with a look equal parts lustful and reverent. No matter the camera, it could never quite capture just how good the lingerie hugs his form, nor the intricacies of his body, from the faintest freckles to the way his skin moves, or the soft hair on his body and the way his nipples press against the lace.

There’s a twinge of discomfort from the thought that Hank is here, seeing all of his imperfections--the scar at his hip, the fat on his form, the blatant and unavoidable characteristics he has as a transgender man--but he pushes those thoughts aside, forcing his confidence to the forefront.

Tonight isn’t worth filling with worries.

“I want to ride you like this,” Connor says, grinding his hips down against Hank’s. “And then I want to fuck you until you come again.”

“Fuck,” Hank groans, bringing his hands to rest at Connor’s hips. He brings himself up to a sitting position, face almost touching Connor’s. “I might just die.”

“You’d better outlive those roses.” Connor smiles and kisses him again. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Hank says, thumbing the lace of Connor’s panties. “Can I touch you?”

“All over,” Connor says. He reaches down to unzip Hank’s pants as Hank returns his earlier favor, licking his way down Connor’s neck and feeling his way up to his chest.

Connor reaches down and grasps Hank’s cock, feeling it as he strokes it twice before he leans back to take a look. He parts his lips in a silent _‘oh.’_

“Like what you see?” Hank asks smugly.

“You certainly don’t disappoint.” Connor licks his lips, then swings his leg back over Hank and stands off the bed. “Scoot back and stack the pillows,” he says, hooking his thumb under the band of his panties to start shimmying out of them. He’s not averse to wearing them during sex and tucking them aside, but there’s no way Hank would be able to avoid the fabric rubbing against him.

Hank complies with the order, stacking the pillows and sitting back against them as he watches Connor. He doesn’t get much of a show, but when Connor sets his panties and packer atop the dresser, his eyes catch on something else. “What kind of lube is that?” The tone of his voice indicates he already knows.

“The kind that’s good for taking pictures with,” Connor says. “If you ask nicely, I can show you some later. But I prefer organic lubes for sex.”

“If I ask nicely. Does that mean you want me to beg?”

Connor grabs a condom from the box and tears off the wrapper, but his eyes are on Hank. He looks good, sitting on Connor’s bed, cock jutting up proudly out from his jeans. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, letting silver chest hairs spill forth and giving Connor a glimpse at the tattoo there. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but you’re doing a pretty good job at buttering me up.”

He rolls the condom down Hank’s cock and drizzles some lube on it, spreading it with his hand. It’s thick and the head is swollen red, and the only thing keeping him from sucking it down like a starving man is that he really doesn’t want the taste the lube in his mouth.

He’s taken larger toys, but never a larger cock, and the thought of being filled by Hank’s cum makes him bite his lip.

Next time, maybe.

Connor straddles Hank again, the tip of his own cock against that of Hank’s and their faces only inches apart. When he looks sideways at his mirror, he’s greeted by the beautiful sight of his near-naked body above Hank’s clothed one. That, combined with Hank’s eagerness and the look he’s giving Connor right now, make him feel wanted, flawless, and powerful.

He grinds down against Hank, feeling the dots along the condom. “You ready?”

“Con, I was ready the minute you texted me.”

And then Connor’s reaching back to push Hank’s cock against his hole. He slides down the length of it effortlessly, taking most of it in one go. Hank curses under his breath and grabs Connor’s waist, looking like he’s making a valiant effort not to thrust upwards.

Connor’s never been a patient man. He starts moving his hips at a moderate pace, building a rhythm that feels great for him--and, by the sounds of it, for Hank as well. The texture isn’t any distinct feeling inside of him--it’s too subtle for that--but he knows the pleasure he feels is heightened because of it. There’s a delightful amount of friction pulling at his inner walls with every movement he makes, and he chases that feeling, riding Hank comfortably until he finally takes his entire cock.

“Fuck,” Connor says, reaching over to grasp the headboard while he picks up the pace. Hank’s hands are roaming everywhere as he said they could, up his sides, along his neck, across his collarbone. He leans forward to whisper in Hank’s ear. “I said you could touch me all over,” he says, feeling Hank’s breath hot on his own neck. A strangled moan slips out of Hank’s mouth as Connor clenches around him. “It won’t make me uncomfortable if you touch my chest. I want you to.”

Hank breathes out a laugh. “Shit, I’m just trying to have a coherent thought here. You feel so good.” One of his hands drifts up on top of the babydoll to cup Connor’s breast, teasing a nipple with his thumb, and the other hand drifts lower, feeling the inside of Connor’s thigh. “Can I touch your…?”

“My cock. Yeah,” Connor says. He seats himself fully on Hank’s dick and grinds down, pulling a deep moan from Hank. Hank teases his cock with a few light swipes of his thumb, and Connor’s about to tell him to get on with it when he starts rubbing with a purpose, pressing down hard enough to feel good. The moan Connor lets out is embarrassingly loud. It’s hard for Hank to find purchase, with the lube slicking the way, but the result is still nothing short of fantastic.

It’s almost too much. Connor can feel the pressure building, almost enough to push him over the edge, and he’s tempted to let it take him. Instead, he reaches for Hank’s hand, grabbing his wrist and slowing to a stop. “God, you’re good. Not yet,” he says. He leans forward and lifts his hips, wrapping his arms around Hank’s shoulders. Like this, they’re pressed chest-to-chest, no space between them. “Fuck me, Hank. Fuck me hard.”

“Yes, sir.” Hank snaps his hips upwards, taking Connor’s breath away. He follows it up with a demanding pace, each thrust just as good as the last. The first ones are hard, quick thrusts that immediately hit a spot within Connor that feels overwhelmingly good, but he shortly transitions to smoother thrusts, leaving Connor’s head in a haze. Hank’s hands wander up and down his back as they hold each other close, and when his thrusts become more erratic and less measured, he dips a hand between them to rub urgently at Connor’s cock.

That’s what pushes Connor over the edge. He thrusts forward against Hank’s hand with a choked cry, hands grasping at Hank’s shirt, and he bites into the fabric of that same shirt. He clenches hard around Hank, and he feels himself become even slicker as everything he feels becomes magnified, each and every sensation going straight to his core.

“Fuck,” Hank breathes. “Connor, sweetheart…” He groans and thrusts hard into Connor once more. Connor can feel the heat as he comes, filling the condom with his cum, and every twitch of Hank’s cock makes him wish he could see it. At least he can see Hank’s face and feel how Hank’s hold on him tightens, and while it makes him feel hot, it also fills his chest with a warm feeling, something tender and a little bit proud.

He’ll analyze those thoughts later. For now, it’s enough to slump against Hank while Hank eases back into the pillows, ending with Connor’s cheek against his chest.

They’re quiet for a while, basking in each other’s warmth and company. Connor lifts his hips to let Hank’s cock slip out when the texture gets overwhelming, then settles back against him with a sigh.

“Does this count as a date? Because it might be the best I’ve ever had,” Hank says, sounding about as dazed as Connor feels.

“Not really. More like… a test run,” Connor says. He runs a finger along the lines of Hank’s tattoo. “I haven’t even taken you out for dinner yet.”

“If I recall correctly, you just wanted to take advantage of that coupon.”

“Mm. Fine. I’ll shred it and you can pay.”

“Guess I’ll have to take those flowers back, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure all florists have a policy against returns.” Connor’s hand drifts lower, leisurely undoing two more buttons. “Mind if I undress you?”

“Let me kiss you, first.” Hank lifts Connor’s chin with a finger, kissing him chastely on the lips. It gives Connor a strange, sensitive mix of feelings, like his cock and heart aren’t sure whether to find it hot that Hank is kissing him while half-undressed in rumpled clothes and with lipstick smudged across his face and below, or to find it soft and caring that the two of them can hold each other like this, that Hank still likes and wants him, and not just because it feels good, but because it’s Connor. (At least, he hopes that’s the case, but it definitely feels like it, and that makes him feel giddy and bubbly, enough that he smiles against Hank’s lips.)

When they part, Connor makes his way down the rest of Hank’s shirt, opening it wide to see the expanse of his front. His body is fit yet soft, hairy and scarred and marked with ink, and it’s just as marvelous as Connor expected it to be. He takes his time kissing as much of that skin as he can, gentler in his exploration now that there’s no urgency speeding him along. He touches, kisses, licks, and sucks at so much of Hank’s body between his neck and his navel, all while Hank keeps touching him in turn, feeling the skin of his shoulders and back and running a hand soothingly through his hair.

Eventually, Connor decides the rest ought to go, so he removes and ties off the condom, climbing off the bed to drop it in the trash. His legs are surprisingly shaky. Behind him, Hank removes the rest of his clothing, tossing it off the side of the bed in a heap.

Connor turns toward him, lifting an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really,” Hank says. He’s got his phone in his hands, which he raises in a gesture. “So, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little under the weather. Might be contagious. Wouldn’t want to pass that on to anyone at work, you know.”

A sly smile crosses Connor’s face. “I wouldn’t want to go into work with a sore throat,” he says, and he might just have one if he tries to suck that cock. He mentally amends his plans to include that activity.

They call in sick to their respective supervisors via text message and then curl up together on the bed, taking the opportunity to drink water and enjoy each other’s company. It’s nice, and Connor appreciates the view, seeing all of Hank’s tattoos and every inch of his skin. He could fall asleep here, but he’s too excited for that, energy running under his skin.

“You ready for round two?” Connor asks, flicking Hank’s nipple. “I’ve got a strap-on with your name on it.”

Hank pauses like he’s thinking something over in his head before he speaks. “Can I suck you off after?”

Connor considers asking if he means his cock or his strap, then decides it doesn’t matter. “If you’re capable.”

“If I’m not, you’ll know you fucked me into next week, and I won’t be sorry.”

“Neither will I.” He kisses Hank before rolling off the bed again. The harness and strap-on are quick to put on, and he’s satisfied when he tests the fit. “Would you prefer if I wore a plain condom or a textured one?”

“After the sounds you were making, I think I’m sold on that one,” Hank says, not so subtly ogling Connor.

“Most of that was you. Can I suck your cock without a condom?”

“Yeah. Shit. Are we trying to go through every sex act we can think of tonight?”

“Nope.” Condom successfully equipped, Connor settles back down on the bed, making space for himself between Hank’s legs and applying a generous amount of lube to his fingers. “Unfortunately, I’m only human, but we _do_ have the rest of the night and all of tomorrow, so we’d better make good use of it. Sumo will be okay for the night, right?”

“I paid the teen next door to check in on him a few times. I might’ve expected to stay the night here.”

“You organized that pretty fast.”

“I didn’t want to keep a certain someone waiting,” Hank says.

Connor presses a finger to Hank’s hole, smearing lube as he teases. “How gentle do you need me to be?” he asks, pressing his cheek to Hank’s thigh.

“I mean, don’t rush, but I’ve got a few toys at home. I can manage.” Hank adjusts his position until he’s lying down, pushing Connor back a little bit, and then it’s easier for Connor to do what he wants.

“Okay.” Connor slips in a finger and it goes easily. The velvety softness of Hank’s walls surrounds his finger as he feels around. When he looks up at Hank’s face, Hank grins and nods, and Connor inserts a second finger. He can feel Hank tighten around him, but the sounds Hank makes are all pleasant with no indication of discomfort.

Connor slowly thrusts his fingers in and out of Hank, spreading them occasionally to stretch him, and then he licks a stripe up the underside of Hank’s flaccid cock before taking the whole thing in his mouth.

The sound that falls from Hank’s mouth goes straight to his cock. He can hear and feel as Hank grasps at the bedsheets, the fabric pulling taut between them, and the way his hole flutters around Connor’s fingers is a reward in itself. Connor keeps a steady rhythm with his fingers, slowly thrusting and feeling and scissoring Hank open, and he keeps his mouth on Hank’s cock as long as he can, running his tongue along its length within his mouth. As Hank’s cock hardens, Connor turns to sucking and licking as much as he can, and by the time it’s fully erect, he’s added a third finger and Hank’s started trying to thrust into his mouth.

Connor pops his mouth off and half-heartedly wipes his mouth with his free hand. Hank’s cock is dripping with a mix of precum and saliva. “You make the prettiest sounds,” he says, voice hoarse. “Think you’re ready to take my cock?” He twists his fingers inside of Hank, pulling a hiss from the other man.

“If you don’t get on with it, I’m gonna come from just this,” Hank says breathlessly. The way his hips move and cock twitches only emphasize his point. “Please. Yes. I’m ready.”

Connor licks Hank’s cock once more before removing his fingers, already missing the softness of Hank around him. He pours some lube onto his strap-on, then presses the head against Hank’s entrance. He doesn’t mean to tease, but apparently he takes too long because Hank honest-to-God _growls_ at him, so he pushes in without further ado.

He’s halfway in within seconds, and already Hank is moaning and panting beneath him. Connor thrusts shallowly and slowly, relishing in the slow drag, knowing how much Hank must be feeling right now. Hank is more than ready, and when Connor finally pushes further forward for those last few inches, he bottoms out without a hitch. Hank gives a loud, high-pitched groan, and Connor stills for a moment, taking a minute just to take in Hank.

Silver hair splays across the pillow and a flush runs down Hank’s face to his chest. He’s sweaty and his mouth is half-open, and the look of this man so disheveled in his bed makes him thrust forward gently, pulling another sound from Hank. The way all of Hank twitches, from his fingers in the sheets to the motions of his hips, is a sight Connor wishes he could keep forever.

If he’s lucky, he’ll get to see Hank like this again and again.

Connor leans forward and puts his hands on the bed at either side of Hank’s belly. He begins at a slow pace, watching Hank’s face with every gentle thrust. He can see and feel every time Hank clenches or shivers or tries to press back against him, each movement making him feel closer to Hank. “Fuck,” Hank breathes.

“You’re doing perfectly,” Connor murmurs, lifting one hand to feel down Hank’s front, every dip and wrinkle in the skin, every hair and each nipple. He increases the pace, watching as the little composure Hank had regained vanishes once more. “Keep making those sounds for me, baby.”

Before long, there’s a whispered “Harder,” from Hank, and Connor obliges. He keeps the pace, but snaps his hips forward in powerful thrusts, pulling a cry from Hank every time. Connor’s hand moves lower to grip Hank’s cock, at first stroking it and then letting Hank thrust into his hand, movements wild as he loses control.

And then Hank comes, thick strands of white spurting out from his cock across his chest and belly, all while Connor whispers how good he is and how beautiful his gasps are. Connor fucks him through his orgasm, awing at his boyfriend’s blissful face and twitching cock, and he takes only a moment to watch himself in the mirror as he thrusts into Hank a few final times.

Connor slows to a stop, then pulls out, deftly undoing the harness and tossing it to the foot of the bed before flopping down next to Hank. He rolls onto his side and lays one arm across Hank’s chest, cupping Hank’s cheek.

“Holy shit,” Hank says. “That was fucking intense.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve fucked someone like that,” Connor says before dipping down to kiss Hank, slowly and leisurely. “I could spend a whole week seeing what noises I could get you to make.”

“Well.” Hank sits upright. “We are not starting that week right now.”

Connor laughs. “But it’s a nice thought.”

“Sure is.” Hank shifts and settles himself between Connor’s legs, spreading them wide to show Connor’s glistening, aching cock. It’s flushed red and twitches at the attention. “May I?”

“Please.”

Hank licks at Connor’s lips and hole, gentle and curious, but he doesn’t leave Connor waiting for long. Once he’s satisfied with his exploration, Hank doesn’t hesitate to insert two thick fingers and take Connor’s cock in his mouth, sucking hard and crooking his fingers. Connor’s fingers are in Hank’s hair in an instant, and Connor groans loudly, lifting his hips to seek more from Hank. It’s an onslaught of pleasure, and Connor’s already keyed up. The pressure builds quickly from Hank’s unrelenting ministrations until Connor’s writhing beneath him, and then he comes, mind blanking entirely.

Both of their movements slow. Hank lets up completely only once Connor’s leg kicks outward on accident, thankfully not hitting anything but air. Connor’s left catching his breath on the bed, certain there’s nothing left of his mind but a puddle of goo.

The two of them lie there together, both exhausted and enjoying the afterglow. It takes some prodding for them to remind each other to drink some water, and then they bonelessly take turns in the shower, too tired to figure out how to navigate the shower space if they were to try fitting both of them in there at once.

They end up in bed in their underwear--Hank in his boxers and Connor wearing boxer briefs--their limbs tangled together under the sheets. Connor wants to stay up and talk, savoring the closeness, but moments after his head hits the pillow he’s already out.

* * *

Hank runs his hands soothingly through Connor’s hair, watching him with a content smile in the grey light before the dawn. The intensity and passion from last night is gone, and so too is the seriousness that Hank has seen on him at work, instead leaving him with a peaceful look as he sleeps. His hair is a mess from shifting overnight, and Hank wishes he could tell Connor right now just how handsome he looks, sleeping serenely beside him.

They barely know each other. He knows that, but he can’t help but look fondly on that fact and understand that it means there’s a whole journey ahead of both of them. Learning about each other is something he looks forward to, from the story behind every scar on Connor’s body to the things that make his whole face light up. He wonders how many moments like these there will be, how many times he can hold and treasure Connor and if, someday, they will come to love each other as fiercely as they made love last night.

He takes a minute to put in an order for breakfast in an app. He didn’t mean to wake up this early--his bladder is at fault--but he’s absolutely going to take advantage of it.

Connor stirs beside him and he turns down the brightness of his screen before looking down at Connor. Bleary brown eyes blink at him, unfocused but warm.

“Hey,” Hank says. He leans down to kiss Connor’s forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Didn’t take you for an early bird,” Connor says, the words difficult to make out, muffled by both the sheets and his sleepiness.

“I’m not. I’m going back to sleep, too.”

“Liar.”

“I hate mornings.” Hank sets an alarm prior to the scheduled delivery time and then puts his phone aside, burrowing back under the covers. “And you’re cozy.”

“Good.” Connor closes his eyes, slotting his body against Hank’s. “Love you, g’nite.”

Hank’s breath catches. He wraps his arms around Connor, holding him close. “Night, sweetheart,” he says, his body feeling warm both inside and out.

He can’t wait to learn everything there is to know about Connor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @gildedfrost, and I spend time in the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) DBH Discord server as well!


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